


Wild Ember

by idiotstolovers



Series: Through The Eyes Of Another [2]
Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Aloy x Erend, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Ereloy, Erend x Aloy, F/M, Filling In the Gaps, Fluff, Post Game, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-12-14 16:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotstolovers/pseuds/idiotstolovers
Summary: Aloy is used to the look in people's eyes when they regard her.Hatred.Mistrust. Disgust. Sometimes, careful curiosity. Even rarer, cautious friendliness. An unreprehended smile, almost never.The looks have changed since she became a brave, and again after she left the Sacred Lands, but they are never that different.She has a mountain of problems more pressing than helping a drunk Oseram find the murderers of his sister. The search for answers and revenge has driven her out of the Sacred Lands and a sense of urgency she can't explain yet spurns her on.But there's something about the grief and fury in his eyes that feels so close to her own, that Aloy can't turn her back on.There is something else in his eyes she can't turn away from either.





	1. Prologue

  
  
  
  
_Snow drifting through the air_

_ Rost, faint, ages ago, his hair not yet strung with silver _

_ A big hand unfurling, a red bloom inside _

_ ** Wild Ember. ** _

_ ** Sturdy and strong. ** _

_ ** Heals the deepest wounds. ** _

_ ** It stands out amongst all others. ** _

  


_ The softest brush against her cheek _

_ The slightest weight behind her ear _

_ Her hair almost as bright as the petals _

  
  


_ ** Like you, Aloy. ** _


	2. Shunned

Red stains cover her fingers as she’s ripping out another stalk of wild ember. The sun is just cresting over the mesa, casting a golden shine and the deep, long and soft shadows only found at dawn. The sounds from the waking city have started to drift down from the upper rings, but down here at the village set at the foot of Meridian people have been bustling about for the last half an hour.   
  
None of them have payed her much mind while she’s wandered the river shore, gathering herbs and passing the time, and Aloy is glad for it. 

Back in the Sacred Lands, nobody had ignored her the way these people do. Back there, people acted like she wasn’t there by claiming loudly that they were not in any way acknowledging or accepting her presence. In her mind, she hears Rost’s voice, telling here they were only abiding the law and protecting themselves from even looking like they were breaking taboo, but the words were barely a comfort back then, and now, the grief and anger feel like Metalburn in her stomach.  
  
In Meridian all the attention she got was simply because she was a stranger, maybe a novelty as a traveling Nora, but to most of them she was just… part of the crowd. In a way, it’s like she’s not even here, and she can see how that could be lonely too, but to her it feels like a blessing, like sinking into a cool pond.  
  
The image makes her groan a little and she uses her free hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. Even though it is barely dawning, Meridian is already almost too hot for her. Admittedly the Blazon Armor helps, although her bare midriff is still something to get used to. It makes her feel unnecessarily vulnerable, but whenever a cool breeze grazes her skin, she knows it is worth it.   
  
The thought of spending the next days in the blazing heat of the desert is less than thrilling her, but she supposes it doesn’t make a difference. Even if she had turned down Erend’s plea, she’d still be baking in the sun for a while. Before she can head to Makers End, she has to make a detour to the Spurflints. She wants to curse her compassion, because she needs answers, but Rost’s last lesson has sunk too deep into her bones.   
  
_To serve a purpose greater than yourself._  
  
Because of Rost, she wanted to kill Olin. Because of Rost, she didn’t.  
  
And now, this. Of course she had agreed to find Ersa, once she’d found out there was a chance she might still be alive.   
  
A loud guffaw of laughter echoes down from the Eastern Gate, and Aloy taps her focus. Sure enough, she can see Erend’s familiar broad, purple silhouette flare to life, accompanied by five other people. She watches one of them rub his head as she starts to make her way up the ridge.   
  
The slightest bit of unease is buzzing in her stomach. This will be the first time she’s travelling with more than one person, and the fact that she is the outsider, again, is not exactly helping.   
  
_Not like I__’m not used to it. And Erend’s there._  
  
The thought gives her a little ease. As blunt and exasperating as he can be, Aloy knows his heart is in the right place, which is the reason she is hear after all.   
  
“A guy can remember that Aloy is the only reason we even know Ersa could still be alive, so a guy would do better to shut up!” Erend bellows somewhere on the ridge, and as Aloy’s head rifles through what this might have been the reply to, the unease crawls back.  
  
“I thought we were leaving at dawn. Where is she?” Another voice asks. The tone is more casual than exasperated, but Aloy clenches the herbs in her hand harder anyhow. _She_ was here on time. She’d done everything right.  
  
She tries for sarcastic instead of angry, but her voice doesn’t completely comply.  
“At _first light_ is what we agreed upon, I believe. _She_ was here then, but because the rest of you weren’t here, I went down to the river and gathered some herbs in preparation.”  
  
At her words, Erend turns around, a look of … relief, she decides, on his face, while the other man, who has apparently spoken, clambers to stand up straight at her sight. A blush spreads across his cheek as another Vanguardsmen steps out between Erend and him, older than both of them, with a seasoned but kind face. At the right moment, he twists just so, and his hammer hits the younger man in the head. Aloy thinks of seeing him rub his head moments ago, and has to suppress a grin.   
  
The man bows his head to her, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see Erend watching him.   
  
“Apologies, m’am. We ought to have been here sooner, there is no time to lose.”   
  
Aloy corrects him and offers up her name. She has no business with titles and politeness, and there is no point in wasting time with them, not when the have a life to save.   


Karan, she learns is his name, complies without protest, something that doesn’t happen nearly as much as she’d like, and Aloy decides that she likes him. With him and Erend along, she can do this.   
  
She sees him send a look to Erend, who clears his throat awkwardly and starts introducing his men.   
  
The one who had asked where she was is called Andrik, he’s one of the slimmer ones of the troop, even though that means little. Apparently all Oseram are sturdier in built, and even Andrik is as broad as the stronger Nora men she has met. She supposes he is good looking, in an obvious way, with dark hair falling around his dark eyes, a small beard at his chin, but Aloy can see a cockiness about him that hides insecurity.  
  
Two brothers, Beren and Enoch, both young, dark-skinned and the smallest of the group, one with short cropped curls, the other with a shaved head but both with full beards braided in different styles. Oren, a giant towering above the group with a reddish tint to his skin, a light brown bushy beard and a leather cord wrapped around his bald head.  
  
She returns their nods curtly, and turns to look at Erend. This time there is no hesitation as he meets her gaze with clear eyes. He is sober, and she is glad. The need for alcohol seems to be replaced by purpose, and she thinks it’s a good sign that he’s able to quit it when he needs to.   
  
With a nod she pushes through them, unsure of what to do other than get on the road. As she passes Andrik she makes a point of pushing the wild ember against his chest, hoping it’s enough to assert her presence, before she leads the group through the gates and up the trail. She forces herself not to look if they follow.   
  
As Avad’s Vanguard they have to be good fighters she supposes, but drunks or assassins are different opponents than a herd of machines in the wild. Erend can hold his own, she knows, but he is not exactly quiet either, and if they are going to run into machines— and they will— then Aloy would rather be at the tip of the group, dictating the conditions on which they will fight.  
  
The sound of several pairs of heavy steps are encouragement enough for her. She half expects Erend to catch up to her, but no one slips in next to her.   
  
It’s a quiet procession due north, and the silence behind her unnerves her. Erend alone usually makes more noise than all of them together right now. She would’ve expected a group of them to be loud, talking, joking, a drunken road-song or two bellowed across the desert. Maybe she has it wrong, or they suppress their Oseram nature. She wonders if that is because of their positions as Vanguard or because of their dire quest.   
  
Aloy’s held out for nearly an hour when she glances over her shoulder in curiosity, wondering what had suddenly managed to stop Erend out of all people from talking.  
  
He’s watching his steps, and doesn’t notice her looking at him, apparently lost in thought. Erend seems tense, but she supposes that is to be expected given the purpose of their mission. A mission she hadn’t wanted to be part of, at first.  
  
_Why should you have justice and not me?_  
  
With a huff she turns back to the road.   
  
It wasn’t like she was really going to deny him her help. It was her own need for revenge and answers that needed fulfillment, that made her turn him down at first, not disregard for him. Erend had been one of the first people to treat her without suspicion or apprehensiveness, even if his personality took some getting used to.  
  
Back then, in Mother’s Heart, he’d been brazen and confident, clearly enjoying his status as emissary in such a _savage_ tribe, and maybe she’d have found him off-putting, had it not been for the ease with which he’d calmed the crowd and the easy acceptance with which he’d answered her two dozen questions. Two minutes talking to him and it was easy to see that while his bravado wasn’t as real as he put on, his friendliness was.   
  
Only later she’d realized that he’d been flirting a little, too, embarrassed at her own obliviousness. Not that she’d wanted to reciprocate, but it made her keenly aware that where she was sure and experienced in the wilds, she was lost and unpracticed in society. That was the first time anyone had ever expressed interest in her other than a harsh and rude remark made by a drunk hunter somewhere on the edge of some small village, but she still felt stupid for not understanding what he meant.  
  
At first, when she had headed to Meridian, she’d thought that maybe he could mistake her appearing there as an acceptance of his invitation, but Ersa’s seeming murder had put an end to that before it could begin. He’d been happy to see her, but since then he’d made no further attempt to flirt with her— at least she thought so. The Oseram where so blunt and open, Aloy felt like half the time they were flirting with the whole world for no other purpose than simply because they could.   
  
But even completely drunk he hadn’t flirted with her once when she arrived in Meridian, and nor any other time since then, so maybe he’d lost interest.  
  
Or maybe he was not drunk enough to miss the look on her face when he’d greeted her, and knew better than to try. 

  
If she was honest, half of the reason why she didn’t accept his plea at first had been the state she’d found him in.  
  
Aloy had tried some liquor she’d wrangled from Karst three summers back, and after a few sips and the following problems with walking straight, decided she didn’t like it. Out in the wilds there was no room for inebriation if you wanted to survive, and the few incidents where she’d met drunken Nora— usually men— had been extremely uncomfortable.  
  
A part of her could understand him. There’d been a small part, or rather, there _is_ a small part of her still, that wishes she could just diffuse all the pain, all the anger, all the questions. But it wasn’t an option.  
  
  
Rost never drank.

_  
Your mind is a blade, Aloy, useless if not kept sharp at all times._  
  
The weird thing was, despite seeing through his bravado, she’d also thought Erend was capable, and when she’d found him at the gate, she was relieved for a moment, expecting his help. That had turned on its head pretty quickly, and she’d been disappointed in more than one way.  
  
Helping him investigate a battlefield wouldn’t just cost her time, if he was going to be drunk and loud and slow to understand, it would cost her twice, and Aloy couldn’t risk it.   
  
_Don__’t act like this isn’t personal. Don’t make me beg. _  
  
He didn’t have to. In the end, concerns and causes aside, it hadn’t really been in question. She’d spent hours on her way from the embrace to Meridian helping others, Rost’s last lesson still branded into her mind. Erend was right, and turning him down would’ve been cruel.   
  
And the pain and fury in his eyes, not disguised or hidden as if they were a weakness, felt all to familiar to her own. So she’d agreed, albeit reluctantly, but told him that he needed to pull it together if he wanted her help.  
  
Aloy had vowed to herself that she’d go to Red Ridge Pass and help him only if he was sober. And he was. His mind wasn’t clear, but this time it was only grief and anger, nothing else that occupied his thoughts, and that was something Aloy understood all too well.   
  
He’d surprised her that day, following her step by step, trusting her conclusions, closing the gaps next to her in battle.   
  
And then she’d looked around and felt the familiar rush of answers to be found, the thrill of the hunt. It didn’t take her long to piece the signs together, and the moment she realized that Ersa had been abducted, not killed, she’d expected to feel envy, but there was none. There was a rush of victory and satisfaction that she’d been useful, because she knew that without her help, Erend would still be grieving someone who was out there, waiting for him.  
  
The look on his face when she’d laid out her theory had erased all her doubts about whether or not she’d wasted time. The thought hurt, but she was only chasing revenge. Erend was chasing someone who could still be saved.   
  
So when she came back to Meridian and had her theory confirmed, Avad didn’t need to ask her. She was going anyway.  
  
But last night Aloy had slept poorly, ill at ease at the upcoming trip, not knowing what to expect of her companions. Now it looked like there hadn’t been any need to worry, because nobody had spoken to her in the last four hours.  
  
Aloy tries to shake the thoughts from her mind, but like flies they keep coming back, settling, itching. She focuses on her feet, on their surroundings, enaging her focus now and then, but they’re still close enough to Meridian that the machines are scattered sparsely before them.  
  
Above them the sun bears down on them, and she can feel the sweat in the small of her back and gathering in her hair at the base of her neck. They’ve been walking for hours, and it’s almost noon.  
  
They’re slow. With a flinch she thinks back to the basement.  
  
_I__’m faster alone. _  
  
It was true, but maybe a little cruel too. She hasn’t been to Pitchcliff, but by Erends description it is to the north way past Red Ridge Pass, up in the mountains past the desert. If they keep this pace, it’ll take them a week to get there.  
  
_A week Ersa might not have._  
  
They had passed a herd of Striders earlier, and Aloy had considered to get all of them mounts, but the silence weighed heavy on the back of her mind.   
  
If they didn’t talk to her because they thought she was strange and a savage, walking up to them with a bunch of tame machine in her wake would probably not help her image.   
  
_Maybe that___’s why Erend isn’t talking to me.   
  
The thought makes her angry for half a dozen reasons, and she starts to walk faster to blow off some steam. Within minutes she’s out of earshot of the group, hand up on her focus, pretending to scout ahead.   
  
It takes half an hour of solid effort to let the anger go.   
  
It takes half an hour more to swallow her pride and let herself fall back to Erend, but she knows they need the rest. At the last moment she remembers that he is supposed to lead them, and the way he doubted himself, so she leaves the choice to him.  
  
“There’s a small valley between those mountains up ahead where we can rest for a bit. Unless you want to push ahead.”  
  
“Something you never do, I’m sure. Do you ever eat?” It’s the first real laugh she’s heard of him all day, and a little of her unease slips away. The way he teases her is no different than usual, so it’s probably just the stress of chasing his sister that keeps him silent.  
  
Erend turns around and watches his men for a second, all of them avoiding her eyes.

_ Or maybe it _ _ ’s his men’s opinion of me. _

The dread comes back a little. Aloy pushes it down. It’s nothing she hasn’t handled before.  
  
“Let’s rest.”  
  
With a nod, she turns away, and hurries to the front of the group, where she doesn’t have to see the looks.  
  
Just as she’s pondering whether or not she should tell Erend that she will hurry to Pitchcliff alone and scout ahead, she can hear steps picking up behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! As of right now, this isn't properly beta'd because it's very late and I wanted to get this out, but I'll take care of this tomorrow. This Aloy's part of the story covering chapter 1 and parts of chapter 2 of The Anvil. I'm not sure this is always going to be running in equal time, but this is where it starts, so it works for now.  
Tell me what you think, and if you haven't go check out the Anvil and watch Erend agonize over talking to Aloy ;)


	3. Ochrebloom Roots

“If I might ask, what does this… device show you, Aloy?”  
  
It is Karan, not Erend who slips next to her. Careful, she studies his face, but can find nothing but friendly curiosity, and she relaxes.  
  
“It shows… well, everything, almost,” her brows furrow as she tries to find the right words. “It’s… like everything around me is covered in a net of light, and only the important things get caught in it so I can focus on them. People, animals, and most importantly, machines. But it doesn’t just show me where they are, it tells me _what_ they are, shows me their weak points, the paths they will likely take…”   
  
“That sounds… “, Karan trails off, apparently unsure of what to say.   
  
“Unbelievable?”, she challenges with a laugh.   
  
He chimes in with a pleasant low chuckle, and grimaces apologetically before his curiosity returns. “Does it do that with humans too?”  
  
“Show me their weaknesses? No. Maybe because they’re either very obvious or not as palpable. Either we have them all, or each one of us has them individually. We’re not as easy to categorize as machines, I suppose.”  
  
“Oh, I have to disagree with that. We categorize ourselves frequently, firmly and with favor, and I would admit our collective weaknesses are very evident.” At her puzzled look, he continues: “ Well, the Carja’s weakness is their stiff adherence to protocol and their vanity. For the Nora… I suppose their rigid beliefs and maybe… their fear, though I can only judge that by rumors and reports of others. You seem to contradict that, as have the Nora I have met, but I suppose given the fact that I _could_ meet them makes all of you outliers of the general rule.” He gives her a careful look, making sure that he hasn’t offended her, and Aloy gives him a grin. He isn’t wrong. Satisfied, he too, grins. “ And well, for us Oseram, it’s clearly a hearty drink- and being too strong and handsome for our own good.”   
  
At this, she has to laugh. He hasn’t struck her as very Oseram until now, with his more mild manners and thought out answers, but now she can see that it is experience, not lack of temperament that subdues the Oseram nature in him.   
  
“Or their famous humility, and how stealthy and fast their armor makes them.” With a laugh, she raises her hands in surrender. “Alright Karan, I’ll give it to you. But that only proves my point: I don’t need my focus to point out our weaknesses.”  
  
“I suppose not. But how did you find Ersa then? Erend tells me you… read the land and it showed you what happened.”  
  
“That’s not exactly what happened. The focus shows me a lot of things- I have had it for some years now, and I still feel like I have only uncovered a tiny bit of what it can do. There are a lot of things I still do not understand. But it does show me trails of blood to follow, path someone has recently taken, things that have been disturbed. It helps me identify things. But it does not tell me what has happened. It shows me… clues, and I can only try to put them together. What happened to Ersa was a guess— one that was luckily right.”  
  
“Then we are even more indebted to you than I thought.”  
  
The words make her stiffen a little. “You are not indebted to me, none of you. Erend helped me, and now I help him— _and_ because it is the right thing to do.”  
  
Karan is silent as he thinks about her words, then he nods, more to himself than to her.   
  
“I see what you mean, but I think you might underestimate another Oseram weakness: stubborn honor.”  
  
Aloy snorts. “We’re chasing a pretty dishonorable Oseram_ right now_.”  
  
“As I said: outliers.” Karan shrugs good-naturedly.   
  
She wants to ask if he is an outlier too, but ahead of them, the path winds down towards a river-bend in a small valley, and their conversation stops as they make their way down.  
  
The Vanguard spreads out and pull their packs down as Erend stomps over to her, a scowl on his face.   
  
“Do you mind clearing the perimeter?”  
  
She frowns at the frustration in his voice. He knows she can easily check their surroundings from here, but she trusts he has a reason. With a shrug, she jogs away, following the edge of the valley for a little bit before she crosses back and over the small river. There she stops and gathers the cool water in her hands to wash her face. It’s a new, fresh relief she hadn’t experienced before she had left Daytower three weeks earlier. Sure, the summers were warm in the embrace, but nothing compared to the soldering heat of the desert.   
  
With a huff she brushes the thick tangle of her hair from her neck, slick with sweat, and sighs with relief as she dampens it with fresh water. A quick swim would be a relief, but Aloy knows better than to wet her new leather armor with hours left on the road before she can take it off. Instead, she dips her hands back in, letting them drift in the slow current.   
  
When she returns to camp, all of the Vanguard are sitting down, silently bowed over their food. Karan hands her a package of burlap. He gives her a small smile, but turns around and sits down next to Oren. Inside the satchel she finds a small loaf of dark bread, a piece of hard cheese and small links of dried, spicy boar sausages, some dried fruit.  
  
_Nothing fresh that needs to be hunted or gathered. No time wasted away from the forge or a fight._  
  
They eat in heavy silence, the soft rush and the occasional roar of a few faraway Tramplers the only sounds to be heard.   
  
She glances over to Erend, but he’s staring at his food, shoulders tense. He’s probably calculating the progress they have made this far, and how long it might take them to get there if they kept their pace. Calculating how the northern weather might stop them probably, just like she is.   
  
_Worse, probably_.   
  
Aloy can still hear his voice break over the word _face_. It had turned out it hadn’t been Ersa, but until they find her alive, he’s likely still imagining her that way. It’s unreasonable self-torture and doesn’t help them, and so she’s sure Erend is doing it.   
  
If it were just the two of them, she would make an effort to distract him, but there are five men sitting around them, that haven’t — save for one— made any effort to talk to her. She mulls it over as she slowly chews her food, until an unbidden thought that had been chewing on her the whole day breaks through and settles in her stomach like a stone.   
  
_Maybe he__’s not thinking about Ersa, maybe he’s just avoiding me because he’s embarrassed to talk to me in front of his men. _  
  
She’d heard the names they call her in Meridian now, the Vanguard most of all, now that she’s deciphered Ersa’s disappearance. _The Nora Outcast. The strange Redhead. Machine Huntress. The All-Seeing. _Who knows what else they thought of her.   
  
Her gut tells her that is not what’s happening, but the years of exclusion and banishment have sunken too deep in her bones. The helpless anger is gnawing at her, trying to wind its way back into her head. She knows that’s likely not what is happening, and she knows that even if it is, it doesn’t change anything.   
  
Erend has helped her. Ersa might be alive. And if she can save her, she will.  
  
But she can’t drown out the voice inside her that wonders if it will be like this wherever she goes.  
  
  
It’s a quiet hour that they spend resting beside the river. Aloy lies back on the ground and closes her eyes, trying to forget about the heat, the silence, the thoughts.   
  
Partly she succeeds, and by the time they gather their things, she has resolved to look for mounts to speed their travels. She wants to think it’s because she’s the bigger person, but there’s a small voice inside her head that can’t help but think that if they’ll shun her for it, at least she’ll be rid of them faster.  
  
Without a word she pushes back to the front of the procession, happy to pretend there is only herself and the trail before her.   
  
The sun arcs across the sky as the miles disappear beneath her feet. Her whole body clings with sweat. Behind her, the men chat in low voices.  
  
After a while they cross a small herd of Tramplers. Aloy watches them through her focus, but they do not seem to be moving out of the way. With the river to their left and the rise of a mesa to their right, and not much cover between them, she decides the easiest will be to just take them down. She warns the Vanguard, and Erend signals them to form up to the right of her. The herd is evenly split, so Aloy stalks to the right, and draws out two Chillwater Arrows.  
  
Four seconds later, the two Tramplers on the left are roaring and covered in frost as she lets lose two more Chillwater Arrows toward the two machines on the right, while the Vanguard starts to rush in.   
  
Aloy rushes forward, and switches to Hardpoint Arrows. Two quick strikes and the processing unit of one Trampler explodes. She runs past it and dodges the fire blast of the other one, nocking two arrows at once. There’s a boulder two her left, and in three quick steps she’s on top of it, launching herself into the air, sending the arrows straight down into the other Trampler’s power cell. She lands and rolls away, barely dodging the now burning Trampler that is coming for her with its last steps. The machine staggers and tries to turn around, before it sinks down in a shower of sparks and flame. The second one follows seconds later, as she sinks her spear into the cords and wires of its neck.  
  
She stands back up and looks over, spear gripped tight, adrenaline drumming in her ears. Erend is standing next to a dead Trampler, a look both incredulous and amused on his face as he keeps looking between her, and Andrik and Enoch, who are both standing next to her and staring at her. Behind them, the other three are just taking down the last Trampler.  
  
Uncomfortable with the attention, Aloy turns around and starts to loot the machines. Behind her, she can hear the loud Oseram elation of a won fight, their dissection of the fight and who played what part, and surprisingly, easy praise for her skill.  
  
Irritation buzzes in Aloy’s head, and she pushes all the guesses and thoughts aside, telling herself that it doesn’t matter what they think or if they approve. She’s got better things to do than worry herself with what’s going on in an Oseram’s head.  
  
  
Back on the road she is looking out for possible mounts, but luck is not on their side. A herd of Grazers is all they cross, worthless for her purpose. So they put one foot in front of the other, and continue their slow procession north.  
  
  
It is late afternoon when they decide to make camp at a river bend next to a cliff, a position easily defensible, with fresh water, cover and, as her Focus tells her, no machines but two geese nearby. The purple lines vanish around her as she taps her Focus, and there are heavy footfalls behind her.  
  
“So what is it this time? Machines to take down, or killers to track?”  
  
It’s the first time he sounds like himself today as he refers to their discussion back at Red Ridge Pass, and she can’t help but smile.  
  
“No machines except a few Glinthawks south of here, but they don’t worry me,” she points in the direction, and Erend stares at the mountain, confused, before shooting a glance to her focus. “ There are some geese downstream however.”  
  
Before they can escape she hops over the river and sinks into the tall grass. It’s an easy hunt: a quick stalk through the underbrush, two quick arrows and their dinner is settled. Only when she gathers the birds does she realize that she just left Erend standing there. She feels a little guilty, but there’s no way to change it now, so she starts gathering Ridgewood on her way back to the men, to replace the arrows she has used earlier.  
  
Aloy can hear them way before she can see them. It makes her a little uneasy how loud they’re being, but they have shown her that they are capable enough to hold their own. They’re just so_ different. _But that doesn’t mean she can’t adapt— for now at least, until they’re actually close to Dervahl and his men. Then, she hopes, they’ll forget their Oseram blood for a little while.   
  
Enoch and Oren look up as she steps out of the grasses and crosses the river. The others are raising tents, and Aloy sees they have made good progress on their makeshift camp while she was gone. No one acknowledges her, but they don’t avoid her eyes as they did earlier anyways.  
  
Without any further comment, she sinks down to the ground and gathers the birds in her lap, gripping a fistful of feathers. As she pulls them out, a large shadow slips infront of the low sun as Oren approaches her and stretches his hand out towards the geese.   
  
“Let me handle those. You did the catchin’, I do the cookin’.”  
  
His voice is deep and booming, slow, but deliberate. Aloy studies his face, but can see no hostility or afterthought in it. She mulls it over, but her gut stays silent, so she gives him the birds and a smile.   
  
“Never been much of a cook myself, anyway.”  
  
“But an excellent huntress, I can see. Straight through the head.”   
  
“Can’t afford to waste the meat when you’re the only one feeding yourself,” she adds, wincing a little at how… savage that must sound, but Oren doesn’t bat an eye.  
  
“And good training for aiming at anything with even bigger heads,” he retorts.  
  
She laughs. “That, too.”   
  
Oren steps away and reveals Erend, who is across the camp, building _her_ tent there. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, equal parts warm and reluctant, and she gets up and walks over to him.  
  
“You didn’t have to do that.”   
  
She isn’t exactly polite, but Aloy is not used to people doing things for her, and it makes her uncomfortable. She knows that it is a normal part of life, of _company_ to do these things for each other, but it’s just so _weird_ to her. Once Rost had shown her how to build her own tent, she had had to do it herself. Because in the end, he might not always be there to do it for her, so she needed to be able to rely on herself.   
  
_He was right, in the end._  
  
“Eh, had nothing better to do, and you were already making yourself useful, so I thought I should do the same,” Erend grins sheepishly. She’s noticed that tendency in him, to put himself down, and it irritates her just a little bit. Aloy never had time or leisure to doubt herself, because doubting could easily mean dying out in the wilds. Erend had all the leisure in the world to doubt himself. He was showing her a kindness, but all she could see was how different they were.   
  
She did her best not to judge that too harshly.   
  
With a soft smile and touch to his shoulder— a silent _thank you_— that is easier to give than to accept his help out loud, she gathers the straps out of his hands and finishes what he’s begun.  


From then on, it’s easier. As they sit around the fire and eat the geese that Oren has cooked way more expertly then she would’ve ever managed, the men chat with enthusiasm.   
  
After the first occasional lull, Erend starts telling stories of the Vanguard, each one more silly or outrageous than the other. Aloy has to think back to the day she met him, easily dissolving the Nora’s misgivings and capturing their attention and trust.  
  
He makes her laugh, makes them comfortable, and soon they all have tears in their eyes as he relates a story about Andrik’s misguided attempts to seduce what Aloy can only assume was probably Talanah. She isn’t directly part of the conversation, but not excluded from it either. Whenever there’s a story that she can’t quite follow, one of them throws in a short explanation for her benefit.   
  
The sun vanishes behind the cliffs, the sky above them drifting from blue to orange, and Karan declares that he will take the last watch. Aloy offers to take the first watch, sure that the men who are used to walking the streets of Meridian and not miles and miles of desert would be glad to get the sleep. She’s used to it, and she’s sure that the men will gladly accept her offer. Given her “second sight” as they call it, she can easily cover a shift alone.  
  
But they surprise her, insisting that she and Erend take first watch together. Aloy can see him blushing and sending sour looks towards his men. She assumes they want to keep him company so he won’t think too much about Ersa, but staying up with either of the men would only result in drinking. She’s the logical choice. Erend, however, doesn’t look happy.  
  
_He probably resents seeming weak in front of his men._  
  
They banter as they gather their things, and Aloy grabs the Ridgewood she has gathered. She bows over the task, thinking of tomorrow and mapping the parts of the way that she knows in her head, trying to think of the closest spot to get a mount.   
  
Silence settles over them as the evening slowly swallows all daily noise. Aloy figures she should ask him about the mount situation, but as she looks up, Erend his staring into the flames, stoking the fire and lost in thought.  
  
She wonders what he’s thinking about. Ersa, probably. Drinking. Or maybe his new situation. Maybe something else entirely. Since she came to Meridian she’d seen his moods shift swifter than the winds out on the planes. Raging, shouting, when he thought his sister was dead. Now, where she’d expect him to be foolishly hopeful, he is silent and brooding. Two weeks ago she thought that he was rather… straightforward in his thinking, but now, Aloy’s not so sure.  
  
“How are you doing?”  
  
He looks up at her just a second before the words leave her lips, and she can see she’s taken him by surprise by breaking the silence. Erend takes a second to respond, looking away from her and back to the fire.  
  
“Haven’t had a drink in nearly a week, so could be better. It helps that I don’t have to mourn Ersa now, but the worry isn’t exactly _better.__”_  
  
Aloy is glad he isn’t drinking anymore, but it hasn’t escaped her notice that he has barely touched his food. Sure, he was busy telling stories and making them laugh, but she knows there is more to it. While she can’t blame him for it, she needs him strong and capable. She doesn’t have a way with words like he does, but she’s good at surviving. If that’s all she can offer, she’ll do that.  
  
“You didn’t eat a lot.”  
  
Erend brushes it off with his easy smirk that she doesn’t entirely buy.  
  
“Eh, I’ll eat better once we have her back, and once I can have an ale with it. Before that, my stomach is denying me its work.”  
  
“Are you in pain?”   
  
“Nah, just… queasy. Happens to the best of us, right?”, he pauses briefly, then his lip twitches slightly. “ It _does_ happen to you, right?”  
  
Aloy can’t help but roll her eyes.  
  
_Always evading, always playing it cool. _  
  
Well, she can help with that, too. As she rises to her feet she orders him to boil some water. With a tap of her finger, her focus flickers to life and she turns and walks out into the darkness, looking for the familiar ligneous stalks surrounded by dozens of red blossoms. It doesn’t take her long, and she starts to dig, pocketing the blossoms and stalks before she rips off the roots. She jogs to the river beside them and rinses the dirt off it and returns to the camp where Erend has complied to her request and his expecantly looking out into the darkness, waiting for her.  
  
“Ochrebloom root. The tea will help your stomach,” Aloy explains at his quizzical look.  
  
She slips the knife from her boot and slices the root into pieces and throws them into two cups before she pours the hot water in them, Erend silent next to her.   
  
He murmurs a quiet _Thank you_ that sounds too gentle for the Erend that she knows, and with a nod they sink back into silence.  
  
The thick, slightly bitter and spicy steam that rises from the cup envelops her, the scent both comforting and upsetting. It’s a smell that reminds her of Rost, of grief and strangely, the passage of time.   
  
Rost had prepared this brew for her a couple of times when she was a child, but she hadn’t known what it was back then. He’d only explained to her when she had started to get her monthly blood, and the accompanying cramps, to boil the roots of Ochrebloom stems to help alleviate the pain. Naturally, the whole thing had sparked questions from her, and he had sat her down to explain that she was growing up. Becoming a woman. And, consequentially, what all that was for. Told her that she could become a mother now— and how.   
  
For the Nora, the first blood was a sacred thing. The threshold to becoming a woman, and thus the threshold to motherhood. Had they been of the tribe, Aloy would have been celebrated that day, blessed with gifts— necklaces, carvings, braids and beads, and blessings of the High Matriarchs.   
  
Because they weren’t, there were no blessings. But because Rost was Nora to the bone, he had carved her blue beads in anticipation of this day. That night, he wove them into braids as he answered all her questions. It was one of the few times she’d seen him unsure, as he’d explained what happened between a man and a woman.  
  
That part hadn’t concerned her that much then— she has grown up in the wilds, she has seen animals mate, and once or twice some Nora couple that had stolen away into the bushes, while she was out hunting with her focus on. What had concerned her was that now, she was on another journey that she hadn’t anticipated.  
  
Of course she’d known that she was a girl, and by logic, also a woman. But because of the lack of any female examples in her life, she had never thought that that meant she would _change._  
  
That night, she couldn’t sleep, plagued by questions about womanhood, about what that meant for her identity, about her place in things, questions that she still had no answer for, and for the first time she had felt the passage of time, that she was aging, that her journey was stretching far beyond what she could guess, past the Proving, and how the change and answers that would come with it were only the _beginning, _and that her identity was comprised of more than just being an outcast.   
  
And most of all, that night, she truly felt _motherless._   
  
Rost came over then, and silently placed a cup of the purple tea on her bedside, sensing her quiet struggle, but leaving her room to deal with it on her own terms.  
  
From then on, the taste of Ochrebloom tea was one connected to pain, but also with comfort. Until the Proving, and the following weeks, when it started to taste of grief and explosions and blood.  
  
Now it upsets her stomach as much as it helps settle it.  
  
There’s the faintest reflection of her face on the surface of her cup. Aloy can see the blue spots of the beads in her hair, and wonders if she has become a woman yet.  
  
An awkward cough pulls her from her thoughts as Erend shifts next to her. His contrite expression catches her off guard, but less so than his words.  
  
“I… have something to confess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! The last few weeks were so busy I didn't get to write as much as I would've liked, but I'm glad I got this done now. Next chapter will be coming up for The Anvil, so look out for that :)
> 
> As always, comments and thoughts keep an author happy and well fed ;)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion fic to The Anvil and part of the Through The Eyes of Another series.


End file.
